


Supernatural, Shortly

by Redrikki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Drabble Collection, Dysfunctional Family, Episode Tag, F/M, Gen, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:37:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1357765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Woe and angst and backstory.  A collection of older short stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preserve Your Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Sam goes to college with two photographs of his family. Originally written for [Prompt 29](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/19777.html#cutid1) at [found_fic_spn](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn)

Sam goes to college with two photographs of his family. One is of his parents from that mythical time pre-Sam, pre-Dean. In it, his mother’s smile is as golden as her hair and, despite the uniform he wears, his father knows nothing of grief, obsession or the endless war against the night. Sam can’t recall ever meeting either of them, but the picture was a present from Dean. The couple in it are the kind who would be proud to have a son at Stanford and Sam’s still a little too bitter to deal with that right now. The picture goes to the bottom of a desk drawer.

The other picture is of Dean from the summer they spent at Bobby’s while their father recovered from a broken leg. Dean had found a Buick Riviera on the lot and he and Bobby spent nearly three months restoring it. Dean hadn’t loved that car as much as he loved the Impala, but he had loved it enough. Sam didn’t know how much Bobby had sold it for, but he gave Dean half. That year, Sam had started school with new shoes and a fancy graphing calculator.

This is the picture Sam puts on his desk for the world to see. It stays there, staring at him, reminding him, for nearly an entire semester until someone spills something on it during Sam’s roommate’s post-finals bash. Sam just sighs when he finds it the next afternoon floating in a puddle of alcohol. As much as he sure Dean would appreciate the booze, Sam knows by now that Dean and his junk-yard car have no place here. He drops the ruined photo in the trash and replaces it with the smiling stranger-parents.

Three years later, his parents sit in their frame in Sam’s apartment advertising how normal he is and none of his friends know his brother’s face.


	2. Bonnie and Clyde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Episode tag for 3x12. Victor had thought Sam and Dean were Bonnie and Clyde. He's starting to figure out he was wrong.

Considering everything else he’d been wrong about, Victor doesn’t know why this one bothers him so much. Back when he had known that demons weren’t real and the Winchesters were just a pack of violent psychotics, Victor had thought he had a pretty good bead on their family dynamic. The older brother was the dangerous one, the instigator, while the younger was just along for the ride; Bonnie to his Clyde. Dean, he’d known, had actually bought into his father’s psychosis, but Sam had managed to break away and live normal for a while until grief over his girl had driven him back into the fold. Not that Victor had thought Sam was some shrinking violet. The kid had taken out two highly trained SWAT guys and Victor wasn’t stupid. Sam in a corner was just as dangerous as his brother. He just wasn’t anywhere near as invested in the craziness and the violence. Not like Dean and John were.

But it turns out demons are real, here and attacking, and Victor knows nothing about the Winchesters. The one he had pegged as the sadistic lady-killer is violently protesting virgin sacrifice, but, honestly, that doesn’t surprise him too much. After everything that’s happened tonight, Victor can almost believe every witness who ever gushed about Dean being a straight-up hero. No, it’s college-boy Sam actually considering what the demon girl is suggesting that throws him for a loop. In Milwaukee and Arkansas, he had played the freaked out and put upon little brother dragged in over his head. Here they are, miles deep under some serious shit and that boy is gone. Dean’s always been the boorish, smart-mouthed hero Victor’s spent a year denying, but Sam? Had he always been this cold, this calculating?

Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow had been ambushed when they stopped to help an acquaintance change a flat tire. Victor can see Dean the friendly neighborhood demon hunter falling for that in a heartbeat, but he wonders about Sam. He knows now the Winchester boys are on the side of the angels, but the hardness in Sam’s eyes as he looks at Nancy makes Victor think anyone in Sam’s way might just get run down


	3. Missionary Position

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once, at Stanford, Sam went to hear a missionary speak. Episode tag to Wendigo, 1.02

For Dad, he knew, hunting was an obsession. For Sam, it was one last chore he owed Jess before he could move on with his life. And for Dean? Once, at Stanford, Sam went to hear a missionary speak. His wasn’t the simple faith of Sunday sermons and church barbeques; it was an intense, burning passion. Now, here was Dean on his knees, offering up their father’s journal like some holy relic, eyes shining and voice trembling as he recited his catechism. “Saving people, hunting things.” This wasn’t a chore for Dean, or even an obsession. It was a calling.


	4. Rote Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know what you get when you tell people the truth? Originally written for [ found_fic_spn 031](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/21400.html#cutid1)

_Must not tell_ His arm was starting to hurt and he was gonna be late to pick up Sammy from the sitter. Dean told her that, but Mrs. Gray didn’t believe in Sammies either. She was stupid and a bitch and Dean HATED her. _lies. I must not_ She didn’t know anything. Dean wasn’t a liar. Monsters and ghosts were real and his dad really did hunt them. It wasn’t his fault no one believed him. _I must not tell lies._ If this was how people reacted to the truth, pretty soon lies would be the only thing he told.


	5. Go, Go Bridezilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jess was never one of _those_ girls. Originally written for [Found_fic_spn 032 ](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/22816.html#cutid1).

Jess had never been one of those girls. She’d never planned out her future wedding, practiced writing Mrs. Jessica anything on her notebooks or sighed longingly a bridal shop commercials. So, when Becky called with the news that she’d seen Sam looking at rings, Jess was surprised by just how much she wanted it. She wanted it all; the sparkly on her finger, the veil on her hair and Sam to have and hold forever.

After the call, Jess went to the bathroom for some water on her face and a few deep, calming breaths. Sam wasn’t going to propose tonight. She knew that. He was going to wait until he found the perfect ring and the perfect moment for the perfect story to tell their grandkids because he was _Sam_ like that. Any other day Sam’s OCD would have been cute, adorable even, but today she just wanted her damn ring.

“No,” Jess told her reflection sharply. “You are not a cliché,” she reminded herself . “You will not turn into some bridezilla, bouquet-clutching monster. You will be patient, you will act pleasantly surprised and you will buy decent-looking bridesmaids dresses.” There. Decision made. She shared a crisp nod with her reflection. Jess would wait patiently for Sam’s perfect moment. After all, she could afford to. They had forever.


	6. Better Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has an ear infection, John can't work a toaster and Mary's had better days. Originally written for [found_fic_spn 034](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/26344.html#cutid1)

Mary’s day began around five in the morning when Dean started howling for her. John, who loved being a parent when it involved tossing around a football or reading bedtime stories, was more than happy to let his pregnant wife waddle off to deal with it. In fact, as Mary clambered out of bed he muttered something which sounded suspiciously like “Have fun with that.”

Dean, it turned out, had thrown up in bed, and was still sitting there in the middle of his soiled bed sheets, all gross and feverish. By the time Mary stumbled back into her room after cleaning Dean up and putting on an emergency load of laundry, John was still sprawled snoring exactly where she’d left him. He was smiling a little in his sleep and Mary considered smothering him with a pillow. It wouldn’t be murder, not really. Aggravated assault and hormones at worst. He rolled over, murmuring her name, and she settled for wapping him with the pillow instead. “Rise and shine, Marine,” she barked. “If I’m up, so are you.”

***

At breakfast Mary discovered that her husband could not make toast. Grill? With pleasure. Fix a car blindfolded? No problem. Work a simple kitchen appliance? Apparently not. She was only gone for as long as it took to transfer Dean’s bedding from the washer to the drier, but in that time John had somehow managed to set the toaster on fire. Dean sat at the table, wailing along with the smoke detector with his hands over his ears and tears running down his face, while his father was attempting to tease the flaming bread from the machine with a fork. It wasn’t working. He was lucky it wasn’t electrocuting him either.

“Mary,” he pleaded, holding the toaster out to her with a desperate, little boy expression. 

Mary just sighed as she unplugged the machine, shook the toast out into the sink and doused the flames with tap water. The toaster’s insides were blackened in a way that did not bode well for its continued use. She’d chugged the last of the milk along with a plate full of Jalapeño peppers during a midnight craving, so cereal was out too. The only other available breakfast food in the house was oatmeal, the sight of which had been making her queasy since her third month. She sighed again as she put a pot on. This just wasn’t her morning.

***

The doctor’s office wasn’t anywhere near as awful as Mary had thought it would be. Sure the waiting room had been filled with diseased, shrieking children and out of date parenting magazines, but they hadn’t had to sit there long. The doctor took Dean’s temperature, shined lights in his ears, made him say “ah,” and less than an hour later they were their way to the pharmacy with a prescription for antibiotics. Mary was actually thinking she might make it home to see her soaps when a loud pop interrupted her thoughts. The car veered sharply to the left and Mary went with it, steering the Impala onto the shoulder. 

The front left tire, it turned out, had blown. “Just great,” Mary grumbled as she studied what was left of it. She was so pregnant she could barely bend over to tie her shoes; working the jack was going to be fun. Mary smiled at Dean’s curious face in the rear window as she went to get the jack from the trunk, only to realize there was no point. Whatever had gotten the front tire had gotten the rear one too and they only had the one spare.

Mary fished Dean out of the backseat and joined him on the Impala’s hood. Why couldn’t cars have little phones in them, she wondered. She could just call John, and they’d be all set. Instead, it was a mile and a half to the nearest gas station and Mary wasn’t looking forward to waddling that with a sick kid in tow. Mary felt her eyes beginning to water. It wasn’t even ten yet and already it was the day from hell.

“Don’t cry, Mommy.” Dean leaned his fever-warm head back against her shoulder and looked up at her with enormous eyes. “It’ll get better.”

“Yeah?” Mary wiped at her cheeks.

The little boy nodded solemnly and pointed where the beat-up blue pickup was pulling off the road just in front of the Impala. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe things really were looking up.


	7. Signature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean explores his new life. Episode tag to 2.20, WIAWNSB. Originally written for [found_fic_spn 08](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/tag/challenge+008)

Dean wandered around the, no, _his_ apartment after Carmen left. This was his life now, he needed to know how Dean Winchester lived it. He knew he had a hot nurse girlfriend, a dead, softball-playing dad, a mother he should visit more often and a brother he didn’t get along with. His mom said he worked at a garage, and he was pretty sure either he played the guitar or Carmen did. Dean wondered if he was in a band.

His search through the mail yielded nothing but bills, magazines and junk mail. His wallet held a Kansas ID, a photo of Carmen and a couple of credit cards. Wrapped around the Mastercard was a receipt for hair dye and bath pearls. Apparently, this Dean Winchester was the kind of guy who bought his girlfriend bath pearls. This Dean Winchester was the kind of guy with credit cards in his own name.

Dean ran his thumb over the raised letters that made up his name. Dean M. Winchester. This was his credit card, not Hector Afromnian or Siegfried Houdini’s, his. This was his wallet, his mail, his apartment, his _life_. This was his chance to have all the things he’d told himself he didn’t want and he needed to do this right. He needed to make up with his brother and figure out where he worked. He needed to practice signing his name on credit card slips.


	8. Task at Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he focuses, concentrates hard enough on the task at hand, then maybe Sam can survive this. Episode tag to Mystery Spot, 3.11. Originally written for [ found_fic_spn 021](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/tag/challenge+021)

It’s been precisely one-hundred-and-two days since Dean died and Sam didn’t immediately wake up to Asia, but Sam’s not counting. He’s not thinking or feeling either. He’s sitting at a library, back ramrod straight, laptop in front of him and four books, two to a side, each perfectly parallel to the edge of the table, arrayed around it. If he focuses, concentrates hard enough on the task at hand, then maybe he can survive this. 

Sam’s researching tricksters, all of them, Coyote, Loki, Anansi, Raven and a million obscure and forgotten others. He needs to figure out which trickster is The Trickster. He needs to find a way to destroy it, but Sam isn’t thinking about why. He turns the pages of the books and doesn’t think about Dean’s blood on his hands and his sudden dislike of Huey Lewis and the News. He types notes and doesn’t feel the crushing weight of the lifetime of single hotel rooms and meals for one stretched out before him.

“Dude,” a man remarks loudly, “it must be MILF day at this library.” Sam’s fingers still on the keyboard and for a split second Sam thinks it’s Dean. Then he remembers blood, _Back in Time_ and his own private hell. Just like that, Sam’s concentration is broken.


	9. The Comforts of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean does something selfish. Originally written for [found_fic_spn 033](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/tag/challenge+033)

"Why won’t you go with me?”

Dean looked into his brother’s puppy-eyes and saw their lives in California and beyond. Sam would be in school, living in a dorm and going to classes. Dean would have to talk some mechanic into hiring him and find himself as much of an apartment as he could afford in an overpriced college town. At first Sam would be over all the time needing Dean to reassure him of the brilliance of his essays, help with his math homework and be an ear to talk to. After a few months though, Sam would hit his stride, find some brainy college friends to have pretentious debates with and only visit Dean on laundry days or when the cafeteria food was really gross. Eventually, he’d have his own place and a girl who was a better cook than Dean and they’d see each other when Sam needed car advice or a relative to show to the in-laws. Sam would move onward and upward but Dean would be trapped in Palo Alto, tethered by a steady job and Sam’s endless potential for need, never to go a roaming or hunting again.

Dean pulled his gaze back to the road. “I don’t know,” he lied.


	10. Emoporn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean walks in on Sam's questionable viewing choices. Originally written for [found_fic_spn 036](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/32434.html)

The TV shut off abruptly as Dean walked in, plunging the motel room into an awkward silence. Dean’s gaze slid suspiciously from where his brother sat, perched nervously at the edge of the bed, to the darkening set and back again. “What ya watching?”

A slow blush crept up Sam’s neck as he studiously avoided his brother’s eyes. “Nothing.”

Yeah, right, Dean thought. For someone who regularly conned grieving families into spilling their guts, Sam’s lying skills sucked. “So, you were just”– Dean gestured to the TV– “staring at a blank screen?” 

“What, do you want an itemized list?” snapped Sam, getting defensive. “One”– he counted off on his fingers– “nothing. Two, nothing. Three, yet more nothing.”

“It was porn, wasn’t it?” Dean asked with a grin. “Anything good?”

Sam responded with disgusted bitch-face number 23 and stomped off to the bathroom to recover his dignity or maybe just jerk off. 

Dean waited until the door slammed shut before turning on the TV. After a few seconds, the disturbingly cheerful woman pushing foaming dish soap transitioned into something that looked suspiciously like _Days of Our Lives._ His brother watched soap operas? Dean stared at the people attempting to act on the screen. One of them was a seriously hot chick. Dean shrugged, kicked his shoes off, and settled in for the show.


	11. Not Your Father's Tooth Fairy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean loses a tooth. Originally written for [found_fic_spn 038](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/34289.html)

Dean lost his first tooth in an apple one afternoon while they ate lunch at a highway rest-stop. John hadn’t even known the damn thing was loose. Dean gave a pained little yelp when it came out, and, for a split second, John wondered if his son had been fighting. Then he remembered; kids lost their teeth. This was normal. This was his little boy growing up.

“Dad?” Surprise and worry warred in Dean’s voice as he offered up the blood-speckled apple with its captive tooth to his father. Sammy, happily oblivious to their dental drama, drank loudly from his sippy-cup while John struggled to find something reassuring to say.

The plump matron of a brood of three girls sitting at the next table didn’t have John’s problem. “Looks like somebody’s getting a visit from the tooth-fairy,” she congratulated Dean with a smile and John grinned back. Who didn’t have fond memories of the tooth-fairy? It seemed stupid now, but he could remember the excitement of having a whole five cents to spend on candy and the simple joys of sticking out his tongue through the gap in his teeth on school photo day. 

Dean didn’t look excited or joyful though. He looked downright alarmed. “Some fairy made my teeth fall out?” he gasped.

John stared into his son’s wide green eyes. How could he explain other parents’ well meaning lies when his boy knew the truth? The tooth-fairy was supposed to be fun, wholesome, as much for parents as it was kids. John’s own mother had squirreled away her sons’ baby teeth in her jewelry box like precious relics of their innocent years, but Dean didn’t have any innocence left. “No, Dean, it’s all right,” he said with a sigh. “There’s no tooth-fairy. Kids just loose their teeth. It’s okay, just hand it on over.”

Dean flashed a now gape-toothed smile of relief before dutifully fishing the tooth from the apple and giving it to his father. It was small and surprisingly fragile with bloody, jagged roots. There were a bunch of nasty things someone could do with something like that. John carefully wrapped it in a napkin and slipped it into his pocket. He'd have to put it someplace safe.


	12. We Don't Need No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's at school and no one is happy. Originally written for found_fic_spn [40](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/36304.html) and [41](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/36964.html)

Sam shrieked like he was dying and John winced as he tried to comfort his son. This was all Jim’s fault; if only he hadn’t talked John into sending Dean to school. After the fire, John had let Dean’s education slide. It hadn’t been intentional. Dean had been silent, hurting, and that was no way to start kindergarten. Even after Dean found his voice again, it had just been too convenient, too comforting having the boy there, minding the baby where John could protect them both. Mary had taught Dean his letters before she died and he would stumble his way through Sam’s picture books and help his brother count along with _Sesame Street._ It hadn’t been until Jim mentioned second grade that it even occurred to John how far behind his son was. 

“No!” Sam yelled as he pushed against his father’s chest. “No touch-y. Want Dean.”

John just sighed as he hugged his struggling child. He couldn’t blame Jim, not really. No, this wound was self-inflicted. It was his fault Dean could barely read, his fault Sam wanted his brother and not him. He should have put his boy in school before this. He should have weaned his sons off each other. There were so many things he should have done, would have done with Mary at his side. He’d just wanted them here, protected, safe, but he should have known this day was coming.

Sam had stopped struggling, surrendering into his father’s embrace. “Want Dean,” he sobbed hopelessly into John’s shirt. “Want Dean.”

“I know, Sammy. I know,” John murmured, rubbing gentle circle’s on his son’s back. Dean was at school where he should have been a long time ago, where he belonged, but damn if John didn’t want him here too.


	13. All-Kinds-of-Furr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John knows what it's like to look at his child and see his wife.

After he found out the truth, John was so desperate for myths he actually read the complete works of the Brothers Grimm. There were far more wicked stepmothers, incestuous fathers, liars, murders and thieves than he remembered from the friendly, Disneyfied stories of his childhood. People weren’t the only monsters in them though; witches and nixes, ghosts, demon deals and zombie wives abound. The stories were more confusing than helpful. How much of them was true? John knew better than to believe in gingerbread houses, but could witches change shape? Could their curses turn you into a deer? Was it the grief of the living or their own need for vengeance that kept ghosts around? Did either of those mean his Mary’s spirit might still be trapped here?

After a while, John gained enough experience to put fairy stories away in favor of more reliable sources. He knew that boiling eggs wouldn’t reveal changelings, but there was something about the story of the king who fell in love with the remains of his wife he saw in his daughter that still rang true. Lord knew grief could do some funny things to a man. After all, weren’t there times he looked at his oldest and saw Mary in the golden shine of the boy’s hair and the freckles on his face? John knew what it was like to look at his child and see the shadow of his wife. He knew what it was like to want so badly. There were times when Dean would smile his mother’s smile and John could hardly stand to be in the same room. When the brilliant gold of Dean’s hair eventually dulled to brown John couldn’t decide whether it was a tragedy or a relief.


	14. Do You Know What That's Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s sick of heaven. Episode tag to 4.07. Originally written for [ found_fic_spn 046](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/40001.html)

“He threatened me,” Sam mutters loudly over throbbing base on the radio. The words make him feel like he’s five-years-old again, siccing his big brother on some playground bully, but it’s too late to take them back now.

Dean dials down the volume abruptly. “Who threatened you?” he demands in the familiar growl that always meant trouble for anyone stupid enough to mess with Dean’s little brother. 

“Uriel,” Sam says and instead of the usual announcements of an impending ass-kicking Dean is silent. Sam supposes even he’s not dumb enough to promise to beat up an angel, let alone a _specialist_.

Dean’s hands tighten spastically on the steering wheel. “What did he say?” he asks quietly. 

Anger boils in Sam’s stomach. “That I’d been _warned_.” He doesn’t bother to contain the bitterness in his voice. “That as soon as I stopped being useful he’d smite me or something.”

“Jesus...Sam,” Dean whispers, his voice hollow. “I...,” he begins but trails off.

_I what,_ Sam wonders. _I’m sorry? I told you so?_ The pronoun hangs there over the quite hum of the radio and the anticipation’s killing him.

“I wont let him hurt you,” Dean finally declares, but Sam snorts and turns from his brother’s promise to watch the guard-rail fly by his window in a long ribbon of metal. He knows Dean means it, will do anything to keep it, but he also knows Dean’s a little too short to box with God. They both are and Sam’s a lot taller. 

The only other car in sight turns off at the exit and Dean pours on the speed like getting them away from there will make it all go away. “It’s just,” Sam tells the rushing scenery, “it’s just”–Sam turns back to his brother, he voice breaking a little–“I’ve prayed. My whole life, ya know? Through Jess, through dad, through you. And then you came back, an _angel_ brought you back, and I thought that was it. That was the payoff. Proof that he was really listening.” He swallows hard at the lump in his throat. “But they hate me. I haven’t even done anything and they hate me.”

“Okay, first off” Dean says angrily, like he can’t stand anyone talking smack about his kid brother, even if it is his kid brother, “ _they_ don’t hate you. Just because Uriel’s a dick who likes to shoot his mouth off doesn’t mean that–”

“Dean,” Sam interrupts. “Your angel wouldn’t even shake hands with me.” The unfairness of it all chokes him like all his fights with dad times a billion. He’s a good man, helps people, prays, doesn’t ditch girls, hustle pool or commit too much credit card fraud and they still like Dean better. It’s not like Sam can help having demon blood. How dare they blame him for trying to spin his crappy “gifts” into gold. 

Dean just shakes his head. “You can’t take that shit personally, Sam. I mean” –he shoots his brother an amused smile– “Cas isn’t exactly rocking the social skills.” He’s clearly gearing up for another platitude about how baseball is beautiful and Sam should keep his faith, but there must be something in Sam’s face because he stops and turns back to the road. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he whispers to the steering wheel like its his heart the angels have broken. “I’m sorry.”

On the radio Belinda Carlisle is singing. “Ooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth?” she asks. “Ooh, heaven is a–”

Sam flicks the radio off with enough force to make the dial creak. He’s sick of heaven right now.


	15. Group Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tag to 4.10. Ruby and Dean reminisce about demon boot-camp. Originally written for [ found_fic_spn 016](http://community.livejournal.com/found_fic_spn/7890.html)

Ruby found him alone with a small army of beer bottles and shot glasses standing in formation on the bar in front of him. At the table in the back corner, three drunk college girls seemed to be trying to will him into buying them drinks, but he was wrapped up in that impenetrable blanket of manly angst those Winchesters wore so well and nothing was getting through. Ruby slid onto the empty stool next to him and helped herself to the whiskey he’d been staring into. 

“Sam’s in the can,” Dean said, barely glancing at her. “And you can get your own damn drinks,” he added, signaling the bartender for another. 

“So I can only talk to Sam now? Dean, that hurts,” she snarked, laying it on with a hand to her wounded heart. The broody son-of-a-bitch ignored her sarcasm for his own inner turmoil and Ruby grit her teeth in frustration. “What is this? Kindergarten? Is it against the boy code to talk to icky girls?”

“You’re not a girl,” he growled into his drink, reminding her that, grudging thank-yous aside, Dean was still the same self-righteous asshole he’d always been. If it had been up to her, Ruby would have left him here to stew in his own juices til guilt and self-loathing finished what hell began. But no, Sam wanted, needed, this man whole and what Sammy wants, Sammy gets. 

So Ruby bit down her anger and managed to soften “I used to be a girl” into something other than the taunt it was. Sam’s needs didn’t stop her from relishing Dean’s little wince when her barb struck home. 

“How long?” He asked hoarsely, turning to face her for the first time. His eyes were bloodshot like he was sleep deprived or coming off a crying jag. It really brought out the green and Ruby found herself distracted by the vividness of it. 

“How long?” Dean demanded, louder this time, making the glasses jump as he thumped the bar with his fist.

A few other patrons glanced over in startled concern as Ruby shrugged carelessly. “A lot less than thirty years.” It was true. Unlike _some_ people she’d known better than to play the martyr when she could get her own back, but even as she heard the words Ruby knew they were the wrong thing to say. 

Dean’s face darkened as his eyes fixed on the neon of the restroom sign. “Alastair likes to talk,” Ruby hedged, trying to dispel the bitter curl of the man’s lips.

“Cut the crap, Ruby,” Dean snapped, shooting her a hard, angry smile. “He may be the biggest girl on the planet, but even Sam doesn’t take _this_ long to put on his make up. So, what?” He leaned in close, his breath hot and angry on her face. “He wants us to talk now? To bond and reminisce about demon boot-camp?”

Ruby held her ground and resisted the urge to sigh. She wondered if Sam had actually managed to force any comforting platitudes out of his mouth before he signed her up for demonic therapy hour. It would be just like a Winchester to go hide in the men’s room to avoid this emotional crap like the plague. “Everyone breaks,” She told Dean is the gentle voice she’d used to help Sam to get through the worst of it. 

Dean turned blindly from the prospect of sympathy to stare into the middle distance. “Not...I, I should have...” His throat worked convulsively as his eyes took on a suspiciously misty look. 

“What?” She snapped, fed up with this family’s emo bullshit. “Is it against your macho guy code to break under thirty years of continuous torture? _Everyone_ breaks, Dean. That’s what hell’s all about.”

“No,” he insisted. “Not...My Dad, I know he never-” Dean broke off at Ruby’s accidental snort. It figured they hadn’t told him. More fun to let guilt over his father’s suffering push him towards some impossible goal. More fun to let him doubt. 

“Don’t bet on it.” Ruby didn’t know for certain, but everyone joined in eventually, especially the angry ones looking to give hell a little back. 

But this conversation was an emotional minefield and the sudden explosion of rage in Dean’s eyes meant this was no simple misstep. He downed the shot in a single gulp and slammed the glass back down. “Tell Sam he’s catching a ride home with you tonight,” he growled as he threw a few bills onto the bar and stormed out. 

“Oops,” Ruby smirked as she helped herself to the dregs of one of Dean’s abandoned beers. That really hadn’t gone well, but she’d talked to him like Sam had wanted and you couldn’t fault a girl for trying. Sam would be out any minute now, and with Dean off angsting she’d have him all to herself. Just like old times. Sam’s mission was unaccomplished, but Ruby’s night was looking up.


	16. Truth Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 truths about John Winchester.

Truth is, John had been in love with Mary Campbell since the middle of freshman year but had been too chicken to do anything about it. Football players were supposed to like cheerleaders, not weird, scary chicks who beat people up. ‘Course, they weren’t supposed to like _Star Trek_ either and she was just so much more _alive_ than the other girls. It wasn’t until after he joined up that he managed to work up the courage to ask her out. He went straight to her house from the recruitment office and asked her right on the front porch. Mary thought he was sweet, her father thought he was an idiot and the two weeks before he shipped out to Paris Island were the most blissful of his young life. He wrote her from basic and his drill sergeant made him do ten sit-ups for ever letter she wrote back.

****

Truth is, John was barely even in Viet Nam, just there long enough to earn a Purple Heart and Bronze Star through what was, to be totally honest, more dumb luck than conspicuous bravery. By the summer of 1971, his unit had been rotated back Camp Pendleton in California and he served out the rest of his tour in the motor pool. The biggest threat to his life was the time he fell face-first into an ornamental pond while drunk off his ass. Half of what he owned Deacon was for the promise to never tell anyone what actually happened.

****

Truth is, John wasn’t lying when he told the cops he didn’t know what happened the night Mary’s parents died. He remembered popping her the question and that she said yes, but the rest of it was jumbled flashes and blank spots. Mary’s father, madder than John had ever seen him, Mary’s in tears, blood, and that was about it. He had nightmares about it some times, really vivid ones, the way he never did about Viet Nam. In them, Mr. Campbell was like a man possessed, strong, violent, terrifying. In them, he had yellow eyes.

****

Truth is, John has this thing with his back, a deep, grinding pain that wrap around his neck and down his spine. It comes and goes, but when it comes it keeps him up at night. The doctor Mary drags him to shows him the fractured vertebrae on the x-ray and says how lucky he is. The doc thinks it’s from Nam or maybe football, but, for the life of him, John can’t remember how it happened. There’s nothing John can really do about it anyway except suck it up, down a few aspirin and remember that swinging Dean around is a lot harder now that he’s four.

****

Truth is, it’s the old pain that drives John out of bed on the night Mary burns. He takes a couple of Tylenol and dozes off in front of _Apocalypse Now._ He dreams about Mary’s father with yellow eyes.


End file.
